An Angel A Kiss
by Knights of Cydonian Starlight
Summary: Tezuka lets his guard down after a sleuth of murders turns out to be a cold case. Happy birthday, Tezuka-buchou!


Sara: Happy birthday Tezuka-samaaaaaaa! xoxoxoxoxox I hope this year brings you a certain Fuji Syusuke wrapped up in some tissue paper and a bow :3

Sky: ... bad mental image.

Sara: Haha! While Sky is internally cringing, I will say that very very sadly, we do not own Prince of Tennis. But it would be so much fun if we did!

Sky: Also, we wanted to give a shout out to the dedicated readers of our other story, Living Hell: Kissy, phoenix, and hoshino. Thanks guys! This story is for you ~

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><p>An Angel… A Kiss…<p>

Tezuka. Was. Pissed.

Well, not exactly pissed. Tezuka Kunimitsu never was pissed, never even showed a hint of emotion. But today, he was as close to being pissed as Tezuka Kunimitsu could ever get. It was cold, he was miserable, and all he wanted to do was just get his damn answers so that he could play tennis again.

He walked swiftly through the Tokyo crowd, hands shoved into his coat pockets, collar upturned, looking down at his feet. It was the pace of the nervous, the angry, the oh-my-gosh-I-left-the-stove-on-and-the-house-is-going-to-burn-down hurried. A file was tucked under his arm as he made his way to the nearest café, which took a surprisingly long time since there were only about a thousand of them in the city.

Tezuka pushed his way through the last few people and rushed inside, ordering a cup of black coffee just to appease the owner. He took a few sips of the muck that should have been labeled as toxic and sat down at a table in the corner. Wiping dust and crumbs off the Formica-topped surface, he opened the file. Inside it, six smiling faces peered amiably up at him.

Shiraishi Kuranoske. Tachibana Kippei. Kajimoto Takahisa. Yukimura Seiichi. Atobe Keigo. And Oishi Shuichiro, Tezuka's best friend - at least he was until he was found in their flatshare, lacerations covering his body. The EMT squad didn't have a chance of saving him before he bled out.

Tezuka wasn't an investigator or a police officer. He was far from it, actually; he was one of Japan's number one tennis players, a dark horse at the Australian Open this year. But when his flatmate had been killed, he decided to prolong his career for a while just so he could get his answers.

The victims were all very powerful. Oishi had been a successful surgeon, and the others either owned well-known companies or held high positions. Did the killer have a grudge against the rich, perhaps? Or was he one of them himself? Tezuka didn't know, and he was afraid that he would never find out.

The case had gone cold a long, long time ago. The murders stopped after Oishi's and the trail was almost nonexistent. The police had given up, and Tokyo returned to its normal state, the murders forgotten like the thousands of others that had been committed before them. But Tezuka still wanted his answers.

He got up from his table; he could hardly concentrate what with the noise in the crowded shop. He threw away the rest of his barely-drunken coffee and was about to leave when he crashed into someone just in front of the counter. Something hot poured down his chest, scalding the skin. Tezuka hissed in pain and looked around for the offender, glaring daggers at anyone who was close.

A girl - was it a girl? She was pretty flat chested if she was - was sprawled across the floor, holding her head. Her body was slender and graceful even in stillness, and something about her gave off an aura of regality and power. A now empty cup of coffee rolled by her feet and Tezuka picked it up, his anger forgotten.

"I'm so sorry, miss," he said, flushing a delicate pink and holding out his hand to help the young lady to her feet. She merely shook her head, locks of honey-brown hair flying around her pale face. She looked up cheekily into Tezuka's eyes and stood up herself, brushing dust off of her white outfit and giving Tezuka a brilliant close-lipped smile. Tezuka then realized that_ she_ was actually a _he_ and stuttered his embarrassed apologies. The half-articulated words seemed to make the other's smile grow wider.

"It's fine, really. It happens all the time. Are you alright?" God, even his_ voice_ was androgynous. It was light and pleasant, and the accent was of someone who was wealthy and highly educated. He jumped into words like _fine_ and _really_, like he was reciting a poem or a romantic novel.

"Um…" Tezuka wasn't sure what to say, partly because pain and heat in his chest was excruciating, but mostly because he was mesmerized by the man's eyes. Brilliant and piercing… blue? They were blue, weren't they? But they were a type of blue that couldn't be given a name, a mixture of cerulean and sapphire and aqua and cobalt. They bore into him, holding things Tezuka only wished he understood.

The smaller man frowned, seeming to expect an answer. Even this expression looked lovely on his mild, youthful face.

"Um…" Tezuka stammered again. He tried to collect his thoughts, but he couldn't tear his gaze from those eyes. "I'm fine," he finally managed semi-coherently.

The man smiled brightly, closing his eyes. Tezuka was glad - at least he could breathe again.

"I'm so sorry about the coffee though," the man continued as though he hadn't noticed Tezuka's insistent staring. "It looks like your file is ruined. Do you have a copy of the papers?"

"Oh." Tezuka looked down and realized that he had clutched the file with the pictures and papers inside close to his chest, and as a result they were soaked in dark brown liquid. He peered inside, but the ink was already smudging and fading. So much for his Sherlock Holmes act.

"No, sadly I don't," he sighed, and he winced as the festering burns rubbed against the fabric of his sweater. "It doesn't matter."

But the man held his hand up in concern, ghosting it across Tezuka's chest. "You're hurt!" he exclaimed. "I need to dress your wounds before they get infected."

"No - don't - I - " Again, Tezuka found himself stuttering into silence as he looked into that mixture of robin's egg and ultramarine, navy and periwinkle. They were hypnotizing, scrutinizing him with worry, so he huffed a sigh and gave in.

"Okay. Let me buy you another cup of coffee first, and then we can go to my place. I have first aid things there."

"Okay," the other man agreed brightly. He gladly accepted the cup of steaming muck from the barista, which Tezuka paid for, and followed the taller man out of the shop.

"By the way, I'm Fuji Syusuke. It's nice to meet you…?" The smaller brunette's voice trailed off with another hint of a smirk playing at those lips. It was like he had managed to imitate the Mona Lisa's famous smile…

"Tezuka Kunimitsu," the other answered, shoving his hands into his pockets after he threw the soiled folder into the trashcan. The two men pushed their way out of the coffee shop and into the streets of Tokyo.

Flakes of cotton fell from the sky, and they began to cover everything in a pale white blanket. It was the first time that autumn that the snow had stuck to the ground and it was only October. A nuclear winter was heading their way.

Tezuka and Fuji walked in almost silence, once in a while breaking it to ask about universities, careers, and such. It wasn't awkward, not at all, this silence. Actually, Tezuka felt more at ease with Fuji than he had with anyone else since Oishi was killed.

Somehow, the conversation ended up being about the murders. In fact, Fuji seemed more curious about that than any other topic they had talked about during their trek through the snow.

"Saa… you don't seem like the kind of person to be an investigator," he commented with a hint of a smile in his voice. Tezuka grimaced.

"My friend was killed," he explained grudgingly. "Oishi Shuichiro. I'll never forget the day when I found him in our apartment… dead."

Fuji clicked his tongue in sympathy. "I heard the case went cold," he mused, pulling his hood over his head as the flurries of white started to flow more profusely.

"Ah. They couldn't find enough evidence to persecute anyone." For some reason the statement made the smaller man's lips turn up at the corners. Then again, snow can do odd things to the eyes.

The two finally reached a dull gray block of a building on the other side of the city. A small pile of snow had already collected in front of the door, blocking anyone from entering. Several of Tezuka's neighbours were already shoveling away the powdery snow before some more created a new blanket of white on the ground.

"Oi, Tezuka! The weather's quite a monster today, ne?" A young man with an enormous shovel in hand pushed blonde bangs out of his eyes. Tezuka made his way forward and attempted to grab the shovel, but someone held him back.

Fuji's hand was on his shoulder, and the fingers held such surprising strength for being so thin and feminine.

"Tezuka," the man said, his voice sugary-sweet. His honey-brown head was still covered by the hood of his coat, yet Tezuka could somehow feel the force of those eyes on him. "You're injured. Let's just wait until we get inside, and I can dress your wounds, and _then_ you can shovel snow all you want."

"… Ah…" Tezuka was startled that he was actually agreeing to this perfect stranger. _No one_ pushed Tezuka Kunimitsu around. No one. And now someone he met at a coffee shop could do just that with merely a few well-placed words?

Fuji smiled again, teasing Tezuka. He whispered something in the blonde-haired man's ear, and the latter's eyes widened for a moment before he dropped the shovel into the tiny man's hands.

"Fuji… that's a lot of snow. Are you sure…?" Tezuka warned, but then he blanched when fierce blue eyes blazed at him. Fuji began shoveling the snow out of the way, the flakes as pure white as his outfit. Tezuka was just a bit chagrined because he couldn't help as well, but he had to commend the man later when he had the chance. The path cleared after several minutes of Fuji's work, and he and Tezuka excused themselves to make their way inside. The hallway was warm and Tezuka could feel snow melting into his messy hair, making the strands stick to his forehead. It was suddenly sweltering, and both of them were keen on taking their winter coats off. Tezuka unlocked an apartment on the second floor and waved Fuji inside.

The place was small yet cozy. The only furniture in the first room was a squashed old couch, some comfy-looking armchairs, and a coffee table about the size of a nightstand. Fuji could see an outdated kitchen and a pair of doors toward the back of the apartment now that he'd taken his hood off.

"Where are the first aid things?" he asked lightly, shaking his still-dry hair out of his face. Tezuka felt his breath catch in his throat at the strangely endearing motion.

"Um… they're in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. It's the first door on your… um, left? Yeah that's it…" he managed to say through the haze that had enveloped his brain. Fuji nodded and disappeared through the door, leaving Tezuka to sort through his muddled head.

_Gosh, the guy is gorgeous_, was his immediate thought. _Even I managed to fall for him in such a short amount of time, and I'm freaking _Tezuka Kunimitsu_ for Christ's sake._

A small part of him wondered whether or not it was safe to let a complete stranger into his apartment after a string of murders still went unsolved, but he could care less at the moment. All he wanted was to touch that silky smooth skin, feel the man's lips on his…

Tezuka's musings were cut short when his fantasies personified appeared behind him holding an armful of gauze, medical tape, and rubbing alcohol.

"Saa, let's do this in the bedroom," Fuji suggested. "It's kind of hard to do it on the couch."

Tezuka complied, hoping that the underlying meaning of those words wasn't just his imagination getting out of hand - which was rare since he never had such a vivid imagination before. He sat down on the edge of his bed, hands folded in his lap and expectant. Fuji raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

"I can't do this when you have your shirt on, you know," he said, and Tezuka blushed feverishly before struggling to pull the fabric over his head. Fuji sighed.

"Here, let me help you with that…" He stripped Tezuka of his sweater and bent down on one knee so that his face was level with the man's chest. He was so close that Tezuka could feel his cool breath brush against the angry red skin, see every eyelash that shaded the closed eyes.

"Oh, I got you really good, didn't I," Fuji chuckled and began dabbing rubbing alcohol on the patches of missing skin. It stung, but the warmth of Fuji's hand was like a balm to Tezuka. The brunette began to apply the bandages, and soon Tezuka's chest was covered with strips of white.

"There…" Fuji murmured, almost to himself his voice was so quiet. He looked up into Tezuka's hazel eyes, his own eyes wide open. Tezuka tried to recognize the different shades of blue he saw in those irises, but he found himself too dazed to concentrate long enough. He put his hand on Fuji's warm cheek, and the latter's eyes closed.

"No," Tezuka pleaded desperately, longing to see those brilliant orbs again. "Open your eyes. Please."

Fuji obeyed and once again Tezuka couldn't breathe. His hands traced down the other's face and neck, finally reaching the top button of his shirt. When Tezuka's hands fumbled with the buttons, Fuji helped him, his touch tender and kind. Together they revealed the white expanse of Fuji's well-toned chest. Seeing the man shirtless made him look more masculine than ever, but Tezuka wasn't turned off - quite the opposite, as a matter of fact; his breathing quickened to be almost hyperventilating, and his palms were becoming clammy with sweat.

They were just inches apart now. Fuji's breath tickled Tezuka's face, and the latter breathed in the scent of fresh coconut and a hint of wasabi…

Slowly, nervously, Tezuka leaned down so that their lips were almost touching. His heart ached for him to just _do it now_, but he couldn't muster up enough courage to kiss the man yet.

"Tezuka…"

That voice called to him. The voice of an angel. Tezuka wouldn't have been surprised if a pair of wings sprouted from Fuji's now bare back, for it would only complete the picture before him.

Tezuka couldn't take it anymore; his head was reeling and his body reacted out of lust and desire. He claimed Fuji's lips with his own and held the man so close that they could hardly be counted as two separate beings anymore. He traced Fuji's lip with his tongue, asking for entrance, and the smaller man's lips parted. For Tezuka it was heaven.

"_Tezuka…_"

It was more of a whimper now, his name on his partner's tongue. Tezuka's lips left Fuji's and trailed down the latter's neck. Tezuka found the right spot and bit down sharply, marking Fuji as his. The smaller man cried out in pain and pleasure.

But then, as though a switch had been turned, Fuji pinned Tezuka's shoulders down on the bed, smiling devilishly. A very pink tongue traced over the lips, swollen from the kissing. Tezuka thought he could see a hint of scarlet in those unearthly cerulean-cobalt-turquoise-navy irises, and it was shocking to see how eyes the colour of ice could scorch as well. He shivered in anticipation and braced himself for what was about to come. Fuji brought himself closer to Tezuka so that he could whisper in his ear.

"Shuichiro didn't enjoy this as much as you are, Kunimitsu," he murmured seductively, and Tezuka's blood ran cold. He struggled, but Fuji's strong arms trapped him like a cage. He wouldn't be able to escape.

"You…" he choked instead, his eyes wide behind the frameless glasses. Fuji smiled at him, showing a row of white, even teeth. The canines seemed pointed, sharp as sabers.

"That's right," he purred. "It was I who killed those six men, including your friend. It's such a shame…" His voice trailed off thoughtfully but then he turned his full attention to Tezuka, as the latter had decided to try another bid for freedom.

"Not so fast, Kunimitsu," Fuji breathed, stroking the man's bandaged chest. The wings that he had imagined earlier now seemed to be stained a dark red, Tezuka thought wildly. The red of dried blood.

"Why?" Tezuka whispered, nearly all of the air in his lungs wrung out of him.

Fuji shrugged. "It was merely a whim, I suppose. I have the most_ horrid_ mood swings, if you hadn't noticed. They were just at the wrong place at the wrong time. Much like yourself, I must add."

Tezuka was silent, eyes wide in horror. Was this the end? he thought. He cursed himself for his stupidity. He would never do the things he planned to do with his life. He would never win a Career Grand Slam, he would never see his parents wrinkled and retired as their grandchildren pranced around them, he would never get to shovel that damned pile of snow outside of the door…

Well at least he fell in love. Even if it was with an evil, sadistic angel.

"I quite like you, Kunimitsu," Fuji continued in the same playful tone, fingering Tezuka's snow-dampened locks. "You're far more interesting than Shuichiro. But I suppose everyone has their good aspects. Your friend was ever so kind and always had something nice to talk about. You, on the other hand, are the most marvelous kisser… Maybe I should pleasure you a bit more before… It's just too bad…"

_It's just too bad what?_ Tezuka screamed in his head, his eyes following Fuji's every move. His fingers were tangled in Tezuka's hair now, a devilish glint lighting up those mesmerizing eyes.

_It's just to bad what?_

Smiling wickedly, Fuji slowly, agonizingly slowly, drew closer to Tezuka. He placed another kiss on the man's lips, a kiss that Tezuka would remember for the rest of his life.

A kiss of death.

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><p>Sara: ... this was supposed to be a happy birthday fic. But... my muse took over from there. It's Perfect Pair, so... *sweatdrop* Hope you enjoyed! ^^ Also, did you guys get why I chose the title? xD<p>

Sky: ... and while you ponder, please click that little review button on the bottom if you would like to share some words of criticism or compliment ~ you don't know how much we love it!

Sara: *Continues to sing 'Happy Birthday Tezuka-Buchou' under her breath while doing a jig ~*

(Written later: We also want to mourn the loss of Steve Jobs, the CEO of Apple. He was a genius, a person who only comes once in a hundred years. God bless him and his family. xx)


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